by Jen Gilroy
“So the hockey program here works for her because it isn’t linked to school grades. Any kid who wants to can play.” Luc gave her an assessing look. “No matter what happens at school, Amy has one place where she can feel good about herself.”
“Yes.”
Luc was perceptive like he’d always been, but even though she didn’t need to spell Amy’s situation out for him, that didn’t make it any easier.
“There has to be something else she would qualify for.” There was a new determination in Luc’s face and voice. “Even if they’re not dyslexic, a lot of kids who excel at sports have a tough time at school. Between us, there must be a way we can make this right for her.”
The tension in Cat’s shoulders eased a fraction. What would it be like to have someone like Luc on her side? He was the kind of guy who helped the people he cared about fight the battles that life threw at them. Being around him made her feel stronger and a lot less alone.
“I appreciate that you want to help, but how?” It wasn’t like either of them could wave a magic wand and Amy’s academic challenges would disappear.
“Hang on.” Luc leaned back and one of his big legs brushed against hers. “Maybe we aren’t looking at this the right way. Everybody sees Amy’s dyslexia as a disability, but when it comes to hockey, perhaps it’s actually an ability. It could give her that sense of the ice that makes her such a special player. And because of her dyslexia, she might also want to prove herself so she’ll work harder.”
Although every cell in her body urged her to move closer and sink into all that warm strength, Cat forced herself to draw back and sit up straight. “Even if you’re right, Amy will never be tested on that.” After sixth grade, her daughter had six more years of school to get through, including the tricky middle and high school years. “I have to think about her future.” Amy was her responsibility, and as her mom, she had to make the best choices for her that she could.
“Why can’t Amy have a future in hockey?” The warmth in Luc’s voice ebbed.
“Maybe she could, but it’s a big risk.” And Cat wasn’t good with risks. “Hockey worked out for you, sure, but how many kids, boys—let alone girls—grow up to play pro?” She wrapped her arms around her chest as if she could physically hold herself together. “I don’t want that kind of uncertainty for Amy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Amy’s tougher than you think. She’s so driven, she reminds me of you as a kid.”
Cat hugged herself tighter. “Promise me you won’t say anything to Amy about a hockey camp or scholarship. Not yet.”
“Of course. You’re her mom. I’m only her coach. It’s your decision. Always.” Luc studied her for several beats before he bent over the pictures again.
Cat shivered. Amy was driven, but she was also more vulnerable than she looked. And what if hockey didn’t work out for her? She had to make sure her daughter had lots of choices, and school was a means to do that.
She stared at the old photos. What had life been like for those women? Separated in time from her by a hundred years, their world was gone forever. A world where even though they played hockey, they hadn’t had the choices she did. A world where because they were women, they were vulnerable.
Cat stole a glance at Luc’s firm lips and the strong column of his neck above his shirt collar. Then, as now, vulnerability got you into trouble. The kind of trouble she could get into with him.
“Cat’s sure a hard worker.”
Luc dragged his gaze back to Liz Carmichael, who stood beside his booth at the North Woods Diner, a speculative gleam in her brown eyes.
Why had it taken him all these years to notice that Cat McGuire was hot? Even with her back to him, seated at a front table with Amy, Gabrielle, and Ward, he hadn’t been able to keep his gaze off her. And all of a sudden, she was everywhere. Even if he didn’t actively seek her out, as he had three days ago at the inn, he’d bumped into her twice this week at the bakery. She’d come into the drugstore when he was on his way out, and she’d also happened to be crossing the town green when he’d taken Pixie for a walk one day after work.
“Michael says Cat’s got a smart head for business on her, too. Sales are up and, for the gallery in January and early February, that’s saying something.” Liz refilled Luc’s coffee cup from the pot that was like an extension of her arm.
“Oh?” Luc dumped creamer into his coffee. Liz wasn’t making offhand conversation. In a small town, even the most casual of glances didn’t go unnoticed by somebody, somewhere.
“Cat’s real pretty, too.” Liz rested a hip against the table, and the paper Valentine heart that hung from the ceiling brushed her hair in a gentle caress. “Not as showy as some, but with the quieter types, you know more what you’re getting.” She paused and Luc tensed. Those pauses of hers always meant something—usually something he didn’t want to hear. “You should ask her out.”
“On a date?” Luc set his coffee mug down with a thump, and hot liquid sloshed over the rim and onto the table. “I’m not ready to date anyone.”
“If you keep saying that, you never will be.” Liz grabbed a handful of paper napkins and wiped up the spill in several deft motions.
“I’m also Amy’s coach.”
“So?” Liz gave a throaty chuckle. “Hockey season doesn’t last forever, does it?”
“No, but…” Even though it seemed like Amy had been trying to push him and Cat together, Luc couldn’t let himself get any more involved than he already was. He also couldn’t let Cat or Amy think he could give them something that wasn’t in him to give.
“See Michael over there at the counter? If you aren’t careful, you’ll end up like him. He’s made a success of that gallery, sure, but what else does he have?” Liz’s voice was gruff. “Apart from some cousins over Burlington way, he’s all on his own.” A wistful expression flitted across her usually bright face.
“Maggie’s only been gone two years.” He wasn’t anything like Michael. His sisters might not live in Firefly Lake, but they were still a close family. Except my folks won’t be around forever, and then what? He stared into his coffee cup, the dark brew the same color as his wife’s hair. How could someone who’d been so alive and vibrant all of a sudden be gone?
“Nearer two and a half.” Uninvited, Liz sat across from him in the booth. “Nobody’s saying you should forget Maggie, but she’d be the first one to tell you to live the life you’ve got.” She nudged his bowl of porridge. “Eat up. Fiber keeps you regular.”
Luc glanced around the half-empty diner. A medley of sixties hits played from the jukebox that was older than he was. Liz’s prized Boston ferns still hung in their baskets, as lacy and green as when he’d been a kid. But even though everything looked the same, he was different. Maybe it had been a mistake to come back here. People here didn’t only know your name. They also concerned themselves with every aspect of your life and made it theirs. “I am living my life.”
“You call walking around most of the time like a dog with a drooping tail living?” Liz snorted. “When you danced with Cat at Nick and Mia’s wedding, it was the first time in I don’t know how long that I’ve seen you look happy.”
“Cat’s a friend.” Except, he didn’t think about other female friends the way he’d started to think of her.
“So you say, but maybe you’re using Maggie’s memory as an excuse.” Liz got to her feet as the bell that hung over the diner door jangled. “You and Cat would make a sweet couple, and little Amy needs a father. Who’d be better than you?”
The oatmeal he’d eaten congealed into a stodgy lump in Luc’s stomach. Any number of men would be better for Cat and Amy than him. Men who’d have been there for their wife and unborn child when they needed him most, and who hadn’t made a bad choice that meant they still lived under a crushing load of guilt and grief.
“Hey, Coach.”
Luc started at Amy’s voice, and he reached out automatically to return her high five.
“Grandma and Ward
took Mom and me out for breakfast.” She gave him a cheeky grin and flicked a glance at the remains of his porridge. “Grandma made me eat oatmeal, too. She said it’s so cold today oatmeal will stick to my ribs.”
Luc laughed. “She’s right.”
“Grandma and I are going shopping with Aunt Mia while Mom works on the history display for the carnival.” Amy’s eyes lit up. “You should help her. She has to go out to the inn, and I bet she’d be finished a lot quicker if you went along.”
“Amy.” Cat stopped at Luc’s elbow. “Too much information.” Her coat was slung over one arm, and, although her blue sweater wasn’t the least bit revealing, his mouth still went dry.
He gestured to the other side of the booth, and Amy slid into it. “Cat?”
“No, we’re interrupting your breakfast.” She glanced at Amy, who eyed Luc’s last piece of toast with the same expression as Pixie when she wanted a dog cookie. “I’m going to the inn to take some pictures for a ‘then and now’ storyboard. Firefly Lake has hardly changed since those old pictures I showed you were taken.”
Luc swallowed and forced himself to look at her face instead of how the soft wool of that sweater hugged the gentle curve of her breasts. Or at how its hem cupped the curve of her hip above her jeans. “Go ahead.” He gestured to his toast, and Amy grinned. “Like Amy said, why don’t I come to the inn with you? I could bring my hockey gear so you’re not taking pictures of an empty lake.” He’d picked up on Amy’s blatant suggestion for no other reason than because it was friendly and neighborly. The lie burned his gut.
“I guess that would be okay.” Cat’s gaze darted to Amy. “I mean, if you’re not busy or anything.”
“I’m free until the game this afternoon.” For a guy who wasn’t part of a couple and who didn’t have kids, Saturdays in a town as small as Firefly Lake had a lot of empty hours to fill. The crew building his house didn’t work weekends, so although he went out to the site to check progress most weekdays, it wasn’t as if there would be anything new to see today, and he’d met with his contractor yesterday. “It’s only fair I help you out. I’m the one who suggested that display in the first place.” And helping her would give him a perfect reason to spend more time with her without Amy around. The truth burned his gut even worse than the lie had.
“That’s right, you did.” A small smile hovered.
“Great.” Amy spoke around a mouthful of toast. “I won’t be back until I have to dress for the game, so you have lots of time.” She swallowed and wiped crumbs off her face with the back of her hand.
“Amy, how many times have I told you to use a napkin?” Cat’s face flushed, and she plucked at her daughter’s arm. “Grandma and Ward are getting ready to leave.”
“Okay.” Amy gave Luc another high five, then kissed Cat as she exited the booth. “See you later. We’re gonna kick that other team’s butt for sure.”
Cat sat in Amy’s vacated seat as if her legs wouldn’t hold her up any longer. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately. She used to be so quiet I had to encourage her to talk, but now she never stops talking. And what comes out of her mouth…” She crumpled a paper napkin. “She doesn’t get it from me.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Luc took a mouthful of coffee so he wouldn’t laugh. “Amy’s a great kid, real spunky.”
“She’s that all right.” Cat frowned. “And what’s that about kicking butt? All I’ve ever told her is to do her best and enjoy the game. I want her to be a good sport and team player.”
“Uh…” He drank more coffee he didn’t want. “I’m a guy. Except for Amy, I coach guys. We kick butt.”
“Oh.” Cat’s frown deepened. “Well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use that expression around her anymore.”
“Would you rather I told her to kick ass?”
“Of course not, but I’ve taught her that physical violence, whether it’s in words or actions, is wrong. Besides, she’s picking up a lot of other hockey talk, too. Like the jokes she comes home from practice with.” Cat made a pained face.
“Okay, no kicking butt.” Luc tried to keep the smile out of his voice. “But she’s a hockey player so, whether you like it or not, she’s going to pick up hockey talk. That’s one of the ways she fits in with her team. Don’t you want that?”
“Sure I do, but I also want her to fit in at school.” Cat twisted the wide, silver band on her right ring finger. “Over the past few weeks, between practices, games, and extra coaching with you, she’s hardly had enough time for her homework.”
“Have any of her teachers said there’s a problem?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one.” Cat didn’t meet Luc’s gaze. “All Amy talks about is hockey, and I want her to have other interests.”
“Has she shown an interest in anything else?” Something more than hockey had Cat worked up, but what?
“Not really.” Cat’s shoulders slumped. “But over the past few weeks, it’s like she doesn’t care about anything else. Not our movie nights or board games…” Her mouth opened but no more words came out, and she pressed a hand to her throat.
“Hey, it’s okay.” As understanding dawned, guilt pricked him. “You aren’t losing Amy. She loves you. She talks about you all the time when she’s with me. You’re the most important person in her life.”
“Now that you’re coaching her, she listens to you more than me.” Cat bit her bottom lip and her face got a pinched expression. “That’s never happened with any other coach.” She hugged herself.
Luc fought the urge to slide into the other side of the booth and take her in his arms. “I had no idea.” Although he should have guessed because Amy looked up to him, and when she was on the ice, she did everything he asked her to and more. Coaches were role models and could have a big influence on kids. “I’m her coach, so I’m teaching her sports skills, but you’ll always be the one who cherishes her heart.”
Cat straightened and pushed back her shoulders. Which also pushed out her breasts under that way-too-tempting sweater. “That’s why I need to fix it.”
“Why? It sounds like I’m the one causing the problem. You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”
“I always have. It’s who I am.”
Her voice was high and strained, like the little girl Luc remembered. Although he’d been too young to fully understand it then, that little girl’s world had been turned upside down when Brian McGuire skipped town. And she’d grown up into a woman who was afraid to trust or depend on anybody, maybe even herself.
“I want to help you. Let me talk to Amy before practice this week.” Mixed with desire was that protective urge she’d always brought out in him.
“Okay… thanks.” Her voice was still high but less taut, which he guessed was a victory of sorts. She got to her feet and looked at him, feisty but uncertain like she didn’t know where they went from here.
He didn’t either, but he slid out of the booth and patted her stiff shoulder. “We’ll take my truck out to the inn. We got freezing rain overnight, and the truck’s safer than your little city car.” His hand tingled from that one brief touch.
“My little city car has snow tires.” Her anxious expression faded, and her voice held a teasing note. “It’s also more fuel efficient than that monster truck of yours.”
“Which would be real important if you skidded off the road and halfway across the lake, wouldn’t it?” Luc left money on the table for his breakfast and shrugged into his parka. “It’s not a monster truck, either. Those have bigger tires.”
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip. “Noted, but I can still drive myself.”
Luc wrenched the zip up on his parka to hide the front of his jeans. Fuel efficiency wasn’t a sexy subject, so what was it about this woman that turned him on, even when she pissed him off? He fumbled for his gloves and took a deep breath. “How many times do I have to say this? Let somebody help you. Me.”
“All right.” Her voice was unexpe
ctedly—and deceptively—meek. She took a filmy blue scarf from her coat sleeve and wrapped it around her neck before slipping a matching hat on her head. All of a sudden, her eyes got a lot bluer and held a twinkle that made him catch his breath. “But I want to drive.”
Unlike a lot of guys, a showy vehicle didn’t mean much to him, but his truck was different. It had seen him through some long days and hard times, and if a big hunk of metal could be considered family, Buddy was like a brother. “Have you driven a truck before?”
“Grandpapa Brassard taught me. I started out driving his old Chevy around a farmer’s field outside town and then on all the back roads between here and the Quebec border.” She gave him a cheeky grin. “Laverne sure was a great truck. I still miss her.”
He dug in the pocket of his jeans and handed her Buddy’s keys. “You’re full of surprises, Minnie.”
“So are you.” Her fingers brushed his as she snagged the key chain. Her teasing expression disappeared and something primitive sizzled in the blue depths of her eyes. She held his gaze for several beats, then turned away.
Luc’s head whirled and he followed her to the diner door on autopilot, part of his brain registering the gentle swing of her hips, even sexier because the movement was natural, not put on.
“You’re not regretting letting me drive already, are you?” She pushed the door open and tossed another cheeky grin over her shoulder.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and not from the frigid blast of February Vermont air. He wasn’t ready to get serious, but memories cast long shadows. Maybe it was time to venture out of those shadows and make some new memories alongside the old.
“Look!”
His head jerked up at Cat’s excited voice.
“Sun dogs. I haven’t seen those in years. Aren’t they supposed to mean good luck?”
Luc squinted at the wintry sky where shards of golden light danced and sparkled around the sun. “A snowstorm in the next twenty-four hours is more likely.”